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Years ago my mom would take the time out, at least once a week, to remind me that perhaps I should lower my standards so that I could find a man.

Mom: You’re not going to be young forever, you know?

Me: Yeah. I know.

Mom: Maybe it’s time to consider that you date someone that you wouldn’t have dated before?

Me: Nope. I’m good.

Mom: But I don’t want you to end up alone!

Me: So you’d rather I end up with someone who doesn’t make me happy so that I’m not alone?

Mom: Then you could have a child.

Me: That’s why you want me to find a man? So I can have a baby?

Mom: You’re not getting any younger.

Call me crazy, but I think standards are kind of important to have. I’m not talking being in that Bridget Fonda space in “Singles” (how about that for a throwback?). She wanted a crazy long list of nonsense, and then was willing to settle for someone who would say “bless you” when she sneezed. I deserve better than that. We all deserve more than that. Shouldn’t we have someone who is gainfully employed, loving, caring, ambitious, smart, kind, warm, etc? I want someone who brings out the best in me. Who challenges me. Who makes me want to be a better person. Not some douche bag who has a pulse, never makes the bed, and leaves crumbs in his wake. Fuck that for a joke. I still believe I can find him. He’s out there.

I was pleased to see her let go of that line of questioning.

Until it turned into something worse:

Mom: You know, if you’re going to have a child, now’s the time to do it.

Me: Um. What?

Mom: You’re not getting any younger.

Me: I’m well aware of that.

Mom: You should just have a baby.

Me: Nah, I’m good.

Mom: But I don’t want you to end up alone!

We played that game for a few years. She went as fair as to hand me pamphlets on fertility treatments and freezing my eggs. At 43, that ship has pretty much sailed. Not sure whether or not my uterus could handle growing and cultivating another human being for 9 months. That whole part of my body has been a dry wasteland for as long as I remember. More than likely if anything could survive up in there it’s some kind of prehistoric creature that should never see the light of day.

You can imagine my “delight” when 3 weeks before my 44th birthday we started a new conversation:

Mom: You know, you could always adopt.

Me: Mom! Come on!

Mom: You’d make an excellent mother.

Me: Seriously?

Mom: You’re not getting any younger.

Me: For the love.

Mom: Or you could be a foster mom?

Guessing this year I can expect pamphlets on fostering or adoption. Yay!

We need to talk. I’m starting to get concerned about the direction in which your life is heading. Remember when we were first introduced and you had all these amazing shows? Those were good times. Sure, at first it was a little hard because people thought, “The Learning Channel? What’s that about?” And you taught us! You really did, TLC! We learned about nature, and science, and different social issues, and cultural challenges, and all sorts of other stuff that made us really think.

Then something happened, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

How did you get from where you started to “Toddlers & Tiaras”, “Gypsy Sisters”, “My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding”, and “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.” What, TLC, is it that you want us to learn right now? Because so far, the only thing I’ve learned is that I don’t want to learn what you want to teach.

Your transformation reminds me of one of those smart college girls with her glorious future ahead of her who decides to try a “bump” at a party. “I won’t get addicted,” she thinks. But 6 months later she’s fired from her job, kicked out of the house, and is accepting $25 for a half and half behind the Wal-mart. Shortly there after she ends up doing gang bangs in porn because she needs money to buy more drugs. Pretty sure she never saw herself sucking six dicks on camera for the $120 that the director is paying for her.

That’s what’s happening to you, TLC. You’re about to find yourself with two other girls in that scene where you pretend your car breaks down and you have no money and the only way you can get it fixed is if you do a bukkake scene with 8 black guys. This isn’t what you want for yourself, TLC, it’s not.

Look, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, but I can’t support you any longer. Your decisions are beginning to make me uncomfortable, and I can’t stand by you while you ruin your life. If you do not accept help today, our relationship will change in the following ways — wait, no, that’s A&E. My bad.

Anyway, seriously, it’s time to take inventory of your life, TLC, you really need to think about where you’re heading and what you’ll end up doing if you don’t get back on track. Come back to us, TLC, come back. Make me want to learn stuff again – and not about how spending 8 hours a day couponing will help me build a lifetime supply of mayonnaise and toilet paper.

Folgers and I had an interesting conversation today about the stupid things girls do. Why do we, as chicks, do slutty things with dudes who we don’t really like, but make the guys we really like wait before we put out? Really, why do we do that? This all came up when we were talking about the terrible date I went on with Bob the Builder over the summer. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why I would make out with a guy I had zero intention of seeing again. The response of “it seemed like a good idea at the time,” didn’t quite do the trick. He was even more confused when I announced I typically don’t kiss someone on the first date.

Folgers: Wait a second, so you kissed this douche bag, but you don’t usually kiss someone on the first date.

Me: Yes, that’s right.

Folgers: So why would you kiss him?

Me: I don’t know. I guess we were both there and I had needs or something.

Folgers: But you didn’t plan on seeing him again?

Me: Yes.

Folgers: What on earth would you have done if you liked him??

Me: Nothing.

Folgers: Wait. So if you had liked him you wouldn’t have done anything with him but since you didn’t like him you made out with him all over Philadelphia?

Me: That’s about right.

Folgers: You realize that makes zero sense, right?

Me: It makes sense to me.

Folgers: I think you’re retarded.

You know what? He has a point. Why do we do that? As I think back to what I was thinking when I kissed Bob the Builder, I really have no idea why I would kiss him when I wasn’t sure whether or not there would be a second date. Isn’t that sending mixed singles? But I guess I didn’t really care.

Meanwhile, if I had really liked him, I never would have let him kiss me. Why? Because I wouldn’t want him to think I was that kind of a girl. Even though, clearly, I totally am. It just doesn’t make sense. The only thing I can come up with is as women we give ourselves in different way. God knows. I’m thinking this one might keep me up at night.

It’s usually my mother with whom I have strange conversations. (Check me out! I used “whom” correctly in a sentence!) This afternoon, however, my sister played the role of the touched person in the conversation. As I do on most days, I called her on my way home from work. Today the conversation turned to something a little bit more topical (but not like a topical cream, I don’t need that):

Me: Did you hear Elizabeth Edwards died?

Sister: She did? That’s terrible! Very sad! I had no idea.

Me: Yeah, they just released the news about 15 minutes ago.

Sister: Ugh, awful. What happened?

Me: Well, apparently the Cancer came back and the doctors told her there was nothing they could do. They apparently had given her weeks to live, but I guess it took her faster than they thought. Very sad.

Sister: Terrible. She was a good actress.

Me: What?

Sister: I said she was a good actress.

Me: What are you talking about?

Sister: Katherine Hepburn was good actress.

Me: Not Katherine Hepburn!! I said ELIZABETH EDWARDS!

Sister: OH!! Oh, I totally thought you said Katherine Hepburn! And wait, didn’t she die like 20 years ago?

Me: Uh, yeah, she died a long time ago. Way to listen!

Sister: Sorry! I didn’t hear you!

Me: Fine, whatever. Anyway, in other news, I have two pimples.

Sister: You do??

Me: Yes, I sure do. I’m very excited about it.

Sister: When did you get those?

Me: This morning.

Sister: You know, they’re not allowed off leash in the state of Maryland.

Me: What?

Sister: Yeah, they have to be on leash at all times.

Me: No, I heard you, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Sister: Pit bulls are dangerous, they have to be on leash. You did say “pit bulls” didn’t you?